Discussion (45) ¬

She is not wrong many who have had the glowing key of pure divinity in their brow are often beyond mortals. Only new born god kin are able to strike them down, young mortals who don’t know their absolute limits and so don’t believe themselves fools for trying. But the war they wage to strike down the key bearers are often only slightly less worse than the depravities they want stopped.

Many warriors find that blood stains deep and corrupts the inner self. In lieu of proper instruction or as a supplement, a warrior can use many herbs to restore their inner peace, if only for an afternoon.

Revenge is a funny thing. You gain nothing from getting it, but could stand to gain quite a bit by promising it. A poisonous frog gains nothing from its poison and everything from its bright markings.
Deterrence is a very old concept. Of course, once that deterrence becomes ineffective for whatever reason, one might find themselves in a good position to burn down the entire world.

Interestingly enough that is thought to be one of the reasons why “blood feuds” are common in areas without a strong central government. Everyone thinks twice about killing a stranger if it could mean that you have his whole family after you.

Speak for yourself. Revenge is a fine thing, but you must tend it like a bonfire. Too much fuel, too quickly, it burns everything. Too little, it smolders, dies, and does not warm you. Tend it. Feed it slowly. Make sure it does not burn past its bed. It’s a bonfire. You can celebrate a good bonfire.

Like the one I threw the warlord on. The warlord who found my home city and started its plundering in the name of Mammon. After he stopped screaming, but before he was dead, I pulled his charred soon-to-be-carcass from the blaze with great, sharp hooks and cut him into ingredients for a brace of pies. They were fed to his lieutenants.

That was a good day.

Since then, I have not sought further revenge. One must make that choice–allow it to sputter out once you’ve reached the one attainable goal. I could not avenge my entire world, nor my city, nor even my family. But I could avenge myself, my old life, upon six horrid men fat with gold, drunk and alone in Throne’s alleys.

It’s like a bonfire, you see. After you’re done with it, extinguish it, and then put on a sweater if you want to be warm.

Ah, the Noodle Dimension. Not a wholly unpleasant dimension, all things considered. Given the choice, I can think of worse places to retire. So long as you can find a lump of noodles solid enough to rest on.

Beware the Holy Pastafarian Crusaders in the Noodle Dimension. They are not to be trifled with (or sponged off, or crème brûléed over) and they seek to invade and spread their devious perversions elsewhere. Gird up thine loins. Stand firm. Resist their siren song.

Low down and near the horizon hung a great, red sun, far bigger than our
sun near the end of its life, weary of looking down upon that world.
To the left of the sun, and higher up, there was a single star, big and
bright. Those were the only two things to be seen in the dark sky;
they made a dismal group. And on the earth, in every direction, as
far as the eye could reach, there spread a vast city in which there
was no living thing to be seen. And all the temples, towers, palaces,
pyramids, and bridges cast long, disastrous-looking shadows in the
light of that withered sun. Once a great river had flowed through the
city, but the water had long since vanished, and it was now only a wide ditch of grey dust.
“Look well on that which no eyes will ever see again,” said the
Queen. “Such was Charn, that great city, the city of the King of Kings,
the wonder of the world, perhaps of all worlds. Does your uncle rule
any city as great as this, boy?”
“No,” said Digory. He was going to explain that Uncle Andrew didn’t
rule any cities, but the Queen went on:
“It is silent now. But I have stood here when the whole air was full of
the noises of Charn; the trampling of feet, the creaking of wheels, the
cracking of the whips and the groaning of slaves, the thunder of
chariots, and the sacrificial drums beating in the temples. I have stood
here (but that was near the end) when the roar of battle went up from
every street and the river of Charn ran red.” She paused and added,
“All in one moment one woman blotted it out for ever.”
“Who?” said Digory in a faint voice; but he had already guessed the
answer.
“I,” said the Queen. “I, Jadis the last Queen, but the Queen of the
World.”

Can you take revenge against a famine? Can you murder a drought?Slaughter an earthquake? Nonsense, these natural disasters care nothing for mortal lives, it is impossible for them to care about a thing so much lower than they, just as it is futile for us to care for them. This is not an Act of Vengeance, it is merely an End.

Waiting for it to be revealed that Incubus was actually the better student. He’s followed Meti’s teachings to the letter, done everything he was supposed to, maintained his resolve, and literally clawed his way up from gutter starveling all the way to God of the Seven Part World.

And still, no one at the table of equals thinks he deserves his position, because Maya gave it to him and left.

The skin coloration and choice of weapon are more suitable for the swordswoman who asked “Who are you?”. Which would make her be Monkey, of the Pursuers, who appears to have decided that being well armored is secondary to learning from a true master of the blade (who is well determined to not take on students, as is the case with most masters truly worth learning from).

What we do not know yet is how many of the other Pursuers are learning from Maya, or the significance of this.

“My rage is no more, yet I still fight on. My hopes are no more, yet I still feel pain. My dreams are dust, my people ashes, yet I still wage a daily war. I have no chance of peace, yet I still fight. Closure is a funny joke, justice a cruel one.”